


The Lion Queen

by Laine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laine/pseuds/Laine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> I am the first of my kind, and the bards will sing of me for centuries after I'm gone.</i>
</p><p>Ned Stark takes the Iron Throne, and he intends to share it with his Queen.</p><p>Written for the <a href="http://gotexchange-mod.livejournal.com/1067.html">Game of Thrones Exchange Comment Fic Meme</a> on LiveJournal.  The prompt was:  Cersei/Ned; Ned <i>does</i> take the Iron Throne, and Cersei ends up marrying him instead of Robert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lion Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Die Königin der Löwen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/486487) by [Schattentaenzerin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattentaenzerin/pseuds/Schattentaenzerin)



Scarcely a week after her wedding to King Eddard Stark,- _Ned_ , he keeps telling her, _just Ned_ \- Queen Cersei Lannister- _Cersei Stark_ , it still feels strange in her mouth, the sibilance somewhat bothersome- enters her husband’s solar at his request. She sits in the chair opposite him, her hands folded on the tabletop; he reaches across the table to cover both of hers with one of his. 

There’s something tentative and nearly shy in his grey eyes as he tells her of the Old Kings in the North, who welcomed their queens in council, who counted their consorts among their most valued advisers.

“I know that this is not how things are done in the South, and if the idea makes you uncomfortable, I would never require it...” His grip tightens, just a bit, and his impossibly solemn face softens- “...but I would like to have you at my side, my lady.”

“Cersei,” she reminds him for what feels like the thousandth time- but when she lets the words settle, when she realizes what he’s asking of her-nay, _offering_ her...the ability to sit on a council of men and express her views with authority-

For the first time in their marriage, Ned pulls a true smile from her, and when he returns the grin, a light appearing in the somber depths of his eyes, she feels her heart beat a little faster.

 

When the lords gather for council, Cersei expects a seat at the far end of the table- this is unprecedented in the South, after all, and surely Ned will not wish to alienate his wardens and vassals. But she finds her chair positioned directly to the right of her husband; Jon Arryn looks a little ruffled, but he does not dare to object. 

They begin, and Cersei is at once unsure- she has plenty to say, that isn’t the trouble, but she has no knowledge of protocol or hierarchy...

Her fears are quickly dispelled when Ned turns to her and asks her directly for her opinions. And then she speaks, softly and quietly at first, but her poise and confidence grow as the hours pass. A tingle of pleasure sweeps through her body when she imagines what the future will bring- Queen Cersei of Houses Lannister and Stark, the Lion Queen, the Golden Lady, the great diplomat, the famed wit, a warrior who fights not with iron and steel, but with words and cleverness. 

_I am the first of my kind, and the bards will sing of me for centuries after I’m gone._

They discuss fairly small matters at first- the division of coin, the state of the grain supply, the management of the ports. Cersei glances across the table at Robert Baratheon, who props his elbow on the table and drops his head into his hand, blue eyes hooded as he yawns. _Probably drunk already, the fool._

But there is a tension in the air, palpable and uncomfortable. The subject that lurks in everyone’s minds, which no one can decide how to broach. Cersei has her father to thank for her own awareness- he’d pulled her into a corner that morning and told her what must be done, for the good of the country, for the good of their family. She’d gritted her teeth and nearly laughed in his face- _you think to tell me what **must** be done, when you only have a place on this council because I begged Ned to re-admit you?_

(Although Lord Tywin had sworn up and down that he did not order the murder of Princess Elia and her children, that it was all an unfortunate mistake- his overzealous men were to blame- Ned had wanted the crown to seize Casterly Rock’s holdings and to send the Warden of the West to the Wall. And he would have done, if she hadn’t asked mercy for her father. The words itched at her mouth nearly every time she spoke with Lord Tywin, but to tell him, to make him understand that he owed his livelihood to his daughter- _petty and childish. Not the behavior of a Golden Queen of legend_.)

 _And now he wishes to kill another innocent child._ Her husband’s nephew, the Targaryen bastard- she hadn’t known what to do, when Ned placed the child in her arms and insisted that they take him in, asked her to try to love him as her own. She’d been furious at first- _must I be constantly reminded that Rhaegar Targaryen chose not one woman over me, but **two?**_ But when she looked into the baby’s little pink face, with the long-lashed grey eyes...when she stroked her finger over the pitch-dark hair- _just like Ned’s..._

She hasn’t been paying attention for several moments now, and she jerks back to reality at the cool, crisp sound of her father’s voice. _He’s done it, he’s asked Ned about Jon..._

The King’s shoulders tighten, and he narrows his steel-colored eyes at the Warden of the West. “It matters nothing to me who fathered this boy. He is my nephew, my own blood, and he will be raised in my household.”

“I agree with Lord Tywin, Your Grace.” The Lord of Storm’s End heaves himself until he’s sitting upright, his blue eyes gleaming with rage and drink. “The boy is half-Targaryen. What will you do when he decides to avenge his bastard of a father? Keeping him in your house...Gods, Ned, once he’s grown, he’ll kill you in your sleep as soon as look at you.”

Ned focuses his gaze fully upon Lord Robert- Cersei had long since noticed this curious ability of her husband’s, to make whoever he’s speaking to feel like the only other person in the world. His jaw is set but his voice is quiet- “If you ever loved my sister at all, you will not ask this of me. On her deathbed, she begged me to care for her child. Should we scorn her memory by destroying the one good thing that came out of her attack?”

 _For that is the fiction, the version of events as Ned tells it_ \- she wants to laugh sometimes at the thought of gentle, scholarly, musical Rhaegar Targaryen as a raper. But it seems to pacify Robert Baratheon enough that he slumps back down into his seat with a huff.

Ned looks back at Lord Tywin and shakes his head. “I will not even entertain the idea. That is my final word, and as your King, I command you never to speak to me of it again.”

 

Cersei knows that when the council disperses, the lords will whisper and mutter among themselves, lamenting their King’s sentimental weakness, just as they did when he established the trust for the exiled Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys, ensuring that they should never want for anything material, and offering them open amnesty if they ever decide to return to Westeros and pledge fealty. 

But when she and Ned retire to their chambers that night, she places her hands on his forearms and nods, again and again and again. “It was well done, my lord.”

His expression is so furtive, so heavy...”Are you always so serious?” she’d asked before their wedding, and his blushes and mutterings had made her laugh.

She waits for him to sit on the edge of the bed before she begins to remove her undergown- she always undresses in front of him, forcing him to look her right in the eye, smiling to herself when his gaze wanders elsewhere. 

She’d been nearly frightened when they first bedded- he seemed so alien, so different from Jaime. Her Jaime, every maiden’s ideal, tall and golden and excruciatingly beautiful...Ned is as tall, but broader, bigger everywhere- _absolutely everywhere_ , she thinks with a smirk, tugging her shift down to expose her breasts. And the hair, too- as the King, he has no obligation to follow Southern rules of grooming and fashion, and he very stubbornly refuses to cut his long hair or remove his heavy beard. 

But while facial and body hair would repulse her on Jaime, it just seems such a part of Ned that she does not even think to object- especially when this large, wild-looking man handles her with such precious, nearly ridiculous care. 

She moves toward him and grips the fabric of his tunic, easing it over his head. His breath hitches, but still with that damnable restraint- she coils her arms around his neck and presses his cheek to her chest...

When he finally reaches up to her face, guiding her down to kiss him, it’s still too soft, and she bites down on his lower lip until he groans and grabs her tighter- there it is. There’s a fierceness in this stoic Northman, but she constantly needs to coax it out. She finds it nearly amusing, an interesting, diverting challenge, but she imagines that she’ll soon grow weary of the effort and hopes that he’ll eventually understand what it is that she wants.

Sometimes she worries that he understands all too well- she’ll move her hips just so, attach her lips to a certain spot, and then she’ll see a flash of alarm in his eyes- _I think he knows that he did not marry a maiden._ But his courtesy will not allow him to confront her with the idea, and it is never referenced-

Almost never.

They lie together in the warm afterglow, Cersei’s golden head resting just below Ned’s chest, the furs and linens of the bed crumpled beneath their bodies- Ned hates to sleep under the furs- “too warm down here,” he always says-, and he likes to couple beneath them even less. He skims his calloused fingers over the softness of her shoulder before winding them in her curls, and his voice is soft when she feels the rumble beneath her head-

“I’ve been thinking about your brother.”

A jolt of panic hits Cersei’s stomach, but she forces herself to remain calm, only tilting her chin up to look at her husband’s face. “How so, my- Ned?”

“I’d like to offer him a release from the Kingsguard.” He shifts a bit beneath her, and his discomfort is apparent. But he continues- “He originally joined under duress- he was just a boy, and Aerys Targaryen was a vindictive madman with a score to settle with your father. If he wishes, I would be happy to restore his position as heir to Casterly Rock and find him a wife of appropriate birth.” 

And she cannot help it- Cersei splays her hand on Ned’s chest and pushes herself upright, green eyes flashing with pique- “You’re dismissing my brother from your guard?”

“That is not what I said, Cersei.” He looks at her and matches her temper with nothing but patience. “It is merely an idea, a courtesy that I wish to extend to my kinsman.” A pause, and then, “Perhaps it would be best if you spoke to him. It may seem less...confrontational coming from his dear sister.”

For a brief moment, Cersei wishes to scream and rage and slap her palm across Ned’s earnest face, taking care to dig her nails into the skin of his cheek. But when she searches his eyes, looking for suspicion or jealousy or accusation, she finds nothing. 

When Lord Tywin had announced her betrothal, her Uncle Kevan embraced her and offered congratulations. Before parting, he’d said: “He’s a good man. An honorable man...a man who cannot conceive of dishonor in anyone he loves.” And then he’d looked at her with those sharp green eyes- Gods, how she _hates_ the way Uncle Kevan looks at her- “That may well be his downfall in the end.”

She feels a squelch of something creeping into her insides- maybe shame? For she has not been able to give up Jaime, has not been able to keep away from the little chamber where they meet. In the early days of her marriage, she’d found it easy to justify- _why should I give this up for a man I hardly know? It’s all that makes me feel complete, and I will not let it go_...

But here is Ned’s hand stroking her face, Ned’s eyes, free of condemnation...this good man, this good king who grants mercy to the children of his enemies, who allows her to sit at his side as his equal-

_He cannot conceive of dishonor in anyone he loves...and he wants to love me..._

The passing silence tears the material within her- _I won’t give it up, I won’t...but what a fool I would be, to squander this chance, the chance to be a lion in my own right..._

She does not know whether the words are true, but she whispers them all the same-

“I will speak to him.”

Ned captures her mouth with his, and when she feels him smile against her lips, Cersei knows not whether to laugh or cry.


End file.
